Secrets
by Emery3842
Summary: For her own good, they managed to keep knowledge about the supernatural world away from Sophie, but will their plan backfire? Sequel to "Family isn't always blood, except when it is".
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I'll make it short...this was my original plot bunny for "Family isn't always blood..."; that was supposed to be a short introduction into Sophie and it sort of took on a mind of it's own. That being said, this was completely written because of all of your amazing comments and support. So, I hope you like it!**

* * *

The bitter late fall air seeped through the window that refused to close all the way-causing the loose papers on the desk to flap feebly before they finally broke free and fluttered to the floor, joining the array of papers and books that already littered the ground.

Bobby scowled at the paper. Snatching up a book from his desk, he propped it up against the window. It didn't do anything to stop the air from coming in, but at least it altered the direction so his research would stay on his desk.

Taking a long pull from the whiskey bottle on his right, Bobby fought his exhaustion and continued to stare at the wealth of information in front of him. Somewhere in the pile of books, there was an answer; he just had to keep looking until he found it.

To say that he had fallen into his work would be putting it lightly. It was either dive back into hunting or the bottle and he'd like to think that he was balancing the two...just the right amount of hunting to keep the alcohol in check.

He may have been keeping everything in check, but he wasn't walking on sunshine. It was nearing Thanksgiving and the only contact he had with Sophie was in the form of a letter that arrived four days ago. The letter wasn't long, only a few sentences explaining that Sophie was going to Bria's, her roommate, for the Thanksgiving holiday. The only thing that kept Bobby from driving the store and stocking up on whiskey was that she had called his place home. It gave him the small spark of hope necessary to keep his promise of letting her figure out everything without interference.

He suspected that she might be feeding updates through Alex's parents because they would periodically stop him in the grocery store and mention something that she was doing or how her classes were going. She even seemed to be getting along with her roommate. Alex's parents didn't know her name, but a quick search gave him Bria Callaghan. First generation Irish-American, no discernible skeletons in her family's closet.

Rubbing an ink-stained hand across his face, Bobby dragged himself out of the squeaky chair and let his feet lead him to the kitchen to make a fresh pot of coffee. Once the sweet sound of coffee dripping into the pot could be heard, Bobby dug through the cupboards, pass the green beans and creamed corn he didn't know why he bought, until he found the loan can of chili. The chili wasn't exactly homemade, but he wasn't trying to impress anyone. It also signaled that it was time for another trip to the store...unless he wanted to experiment with what green beans and creamed corn tasted like mixed together.

* * *

"So, how come I've never seen you around here before?"

Caleb rolled his eyes as Dean leaned into the blond, not crossing into her space, but suggestively pressing against it and waiting for permission. He didn't know why the kid was waiting-the chick was obviously interested. But, maybe Dean had a method; he'd certainly been successful enough over the past few weeks that Caleb couldn't find fault.

"Ah, I'm on a business trip with my good friend, Erwin." Dean jerked his head in Caleb's direction and grinned when he caught the unamused expression before Caleb got control of it and turned it into agreement.

"Yep," he supplied simply.

"What business brings you to Fairview?" The blond asked curiously, her fingers toying with the cuff of Dean's jacket.

Dean turned his hand so that he could tap her fingers playfully, "Boring business stuff, so let's talk about you."

Dean's muscles tightened and he froze as a beer bottle that was left on the coffee table rattled before tipping over. Glancing over his shoulder, he made sure that he could sense no movement and then rubbed his hand over his shin briskly. Snatching up his jacket off of the couch, he used the street light that was filtering in through the blinds to guide him to the door. Thankfully, he escaped from the small house without any detection.

Dropping into the driver's seat, Dean glanced into the rear-view mirror and then pushed it away so it wasn't facing him.

...What was he doing?

Ever since the road trip with Sophie had ended in disaster, he had thrown himself full-heartedly into the life. Sophie grounded him and if he couldn't be friends with her, then he might as well.

His dad certainly appreciated the change. No more evenings spent on the phone-they were now devoted to research or training. John didn't think Dean had gone on as many runs over his entire life than he had in the past couple of months.

He was also more focused. There hadn't been any more mistakes like with the spirit in Amherst. Anything that made Dean a better hunter, made him quicker, made him lose the hesitation that he always had, couldn't be a bad thing in his dad's eyes.

...Well, it might not be a bad thing if it was true. But in reality, the extra training, constant researching, the increased alcohol and near constant flow of girls were like a bandaid. A nice cover-up for the gaping wound...the signs of it obvious if anyone looked closely. And if he slowed down for a minute, he would succumb to it.

Compared to the alternative, Dean would take the bandaid every time.

* * *

"Have you gone through your drills yet?"

Sam didn't look up from the books he had spread over the rickety table. "Not yet," he replied distractedly.

"Go do them," John ordered, jamming his feet into his boots.

"I will later," he bravely replied. "I'm right in the middle of this project for school and I think I've almost figured it out."

John glanced up to find that Sam hadn't moved an inch. "Now, Sam."

Sam reluctantly pulled away from his books and sent his dad a face that clearly said he didn't have time to be distracted. "I'll...where are you going?"

"Out." John threw he jacket on and moved towards his youngest.

"Out where?" Sam questioned insistently, his eyebrows knitting together and his pencil tapping out a beat that was a sure-fire way to irritate his dad.

"Out." John repeated, stopping near the table, forcing Sam to crane his neck to see him.

Sam rolled his eyes upward with the dual intent of expressing his annoyance and to see his dad. Giving up on trying to get a straight answer, Sam let out a huff of air. "Okay."

Clearing his throat with purpose, John pinned his son with a stern gaze that demanded obedience. "Get your drills done before I come home."

"When's that gonna be? Do I have a few hours or a few weeks?" Sam snarkily asked, his pencil still tapping away.

Knowing that no answer was going to satisfy his son, John snatched the pencil away from Sam before he snapped it in half in frustration. "Just get them done."

The slurred curse was the first indication, the slight stumble was the second and the third, entirely unneeded, was the wave of noxious smell that assaulted his nose when his dad neared the beds.

Nervously, Sam checked the alarm clock that sat in between the beds. He had gotten sucked into the book he was reading and had lost track of time-otherwise he would have made sure he was asleep before his dad got home, or at least pretended to be. Usually when their dad would go out, Dean would run interference between them. When they were kids, Sam thought it was because Dean didn't want Sam to see their dad in a bad light. The past few years, it was probably because they butted heads on a good day and Dean didn't want any of the arguments to escalate.

But...Dean wasn't there; he was off with Caleb on a series of hunts for the past couple of weeks. So, it was up to him to walk the tightrope that was a drunk John Winchester.

"Why're you up?" John asked, his words slurred, but there was a stony awareness in his eyes.

"I was reading," Sam explained, his tone defiant.

"Ch'you do your drills?" John bit out while he stalked around the small motel room.

Sam's defiance seeped out of him; Dean was the storyteller, not him. Their dad could almost always tell when he was lying. "Yeah," he tried to keep his tone even.

"Get up," John ordered, stomping over to Sam's bed.

"No, I'm gonna finish this and go to sleep."

Maybe they were too used to Dean being a calming buffer because they were both surprised by John's next move. Moving faster than any drunk person had rights to, John leapt forward and grasped Sam by the upper arm and drug him from his bed.

"What are you doing!?" Sam shouted as his feet clumsily hit the ground and he was yanked upright by his dad.

"Do your damn drills," John barked. He didn't plan on doing this, but now that he had started, he had no choice but to keep going. If he backed down, Sam would see it as a victory and that was the last thing he needed.

"Get off of me!" Sam hollered, trying in vain to regain control of his arm.

John growled low in his throat. Sam didn't see it, he never had. Dean understood. Understood that this stuff was important and could save his life. John knew that one day he might not come home and this was the only way he knew how to make sure that his sons would be okay.

Shoving Sam bodily away from him in his conviction that he was only doing what was necessary, John snapped, "You're not going to sleep until you do what I tell you to."

Sam bit his lip and forced himself to not grimace or rub his arm to sooth the burning ache where his dad had gripped him. And he could ignore the stinging sensation in his eyes, but he couldn't prevent the tears that welled up-part a reaction to the pain and the slight sense of betrayal he felt at his dad's actions.

Releasing a shaky puff of air, Sam let his body fall to the ground and caught himself with his hands before lowering to begin his push-ups...he couldn't wait until Dean finished up with Caleb and rejoined them. Without Dean, he didn't know how much longer he could handle being with his dad.

* * *

"Have you _never_ seen a horror movie before?" Sophie's joking question was ruined by the slightly breathless tone that she asked it in.

"Come on, what's gonna happen? We're on campus and it's not that much further."

"Alright, that's it. We're gonna be dead by morning. You've just signed our death certificates!" Sophie exclaimed, holding her arm out to balance herself as she wobbled on the heels she had borrowed from her roommate. "We aren't even going to be able to run…we're like trussed up turkeys on Thanksgiving."

"Oh, shut up. All you've done since you've gotten here is study. I've been begging you to come out with me and now that I've gotten you away from your books, you aren't going back until you've had some fun."

"I like books," Sophie defended. "And they won't kill me."

"Sure they will, you'll die from sexual frustration because you're never going to get some unless you get out of our room more."

"I don't want to get some," Sophie's hand grabbed unto her roommate's shoulder as she stumbled. "I just want to be me."

"Well, being you isn't getting you anyone," Bria unknowingly hit on the same criticism that Alex had of her.

"What is it about me that makes everyone say that?!" Sophie nearly shouted in exasperation. "Do I have something written on my forehead that says 'I'm not interesting, move on'?"

"Sorry, I didn't mean anything by it." When Bria apologized, Sophie actually believed it, unlike the all the times Alex had thrown an apology at her. "It's just…I've seen you with Chase…"

"We're just friends," Sophie argued.

"Yeah, friends who flirt. It's like you don't realize that you're doing it and when you do, you panic and run off. Just one date, that's all I'm asking for. If I'm wrong then you can have a full month of uninterrupted study time in our room."

"It's complicated…" Sophie let her sentence drop off as the air shifted around them, stirring up the crunchy leaves beneath their feet.

Bria didn't seem to notice as she interjected, "That's what people always say, but it usually isn't…"

"Hey, I think we should head back," Sophie interrupted nervously, goose bumps breaking out over her arms.

"No, no, no, you aren't getting out of this. You promised me one night of fun."

"I…" Sophie hesitated. Was it her over active imagination, not wanting to go to a party, or a legitimate feeling of danger? "Look, if we go back now, I'll text Chase…but can we please go back?"

Bria spun around, her hair twirling behind her; she was going to tell Sophie to suck it up, but the look of worry was enough to convince her to yield to her roommate's request. "Fine, but you're texting him the second we get back."

"Okay, let's just get out of here," Sophie reached out and tugged on Bria's arm, relieved when they started back towards the dorms. As Bria switched gears into talking up the benefits of guys like Chase, Sophie looked over her shoulder and decided that it was probably just the setting that gave her the chills-the foggy walkway between the old buildings and trees, the wind that cut through her clothes, the flickering lamp post...all of it combined to form the setting of one of the horror movies Dean used to make her watch and it was just the memory of those that made her nervous. But, seeing as it got her out of going to the party, she'd take it.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: You all are amazing! I was so happy to see so many follow the story into the sequel. Sorry this took me a while to get out; I've tinkered with it for a long time and was having a difficult time getting it to go where I wanted it to. The next chapter should get to you guys much quicker!**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

"Earth to Sophie…"

"Huh?" Sophie blinked rapidly, bringing Bria back into focus.

"You left me for a second there. Where'd you go?" Bria asked, plopping down on the couch next to her roommate.

Sophie shifted to accommodate Bria and shrugged, "Nowhere. I'm just a little tired."

Bria nodded understandingly and smoothed her hand over the soft blanket that was decorating the couch. "You sure you're okay? You've seemed distracted all night."

"Yeah, I'm fine," Sophie reassured, bumping her shoulder against Bria's. It had been a nice break so far and it was completely different from what it would have been like if she had gone home. With the way Bria had acted when they got off of the short plane ride to Seattle, Sophie was expecting some shack in the woods. Instead, they pulled up to a high-rise building in the middle of the city and Bria had grinned sheepishly.

"_My parents are loaded."_

The two-story condo was spotless. There was a tasteful decor theme running throughout all the rooms, with large windows overlooking the water. They were greeted warmly by Bria's parents as they ran out the door—apparently, it was the season for charity galas and they were already running late. In fact, her parents always seemed to be doing something until Thanksgiving Day when they appeared to direct the help they hired to cook and prepare the meal. Not even the holidays were safe from networking and they had invited some work associates over to eat.

The food was a professional's take on traditional and the table looked like it was pulled out of a magazine. But, despite the ideal setting, it was lacking the hominess of last year. For dessert they didn't even serve pie, but some weird pumpkin mousse.

It was over though and they were heading back to school in the morning.

"Hmm, if you say so," Bria said skeptically. "I just feel bad. I should have warned you before I invited you. My family's just a little…different."

Sophie smiled tightly, "Don't worry about it, so is mine."

* * *

The first Thanksgiving that Sophie lived with Bobby was an uneventful affair. Sophie still wasn't speaking and Bobby had never cooked a holiday meal before. They ended up putting the football game on and ate a simple dinner. But everything had changed since then—now he couldn't shut Sophie up, not that he really wanted to. He had a hard time admitting it out loud, but he loved the turn his life had taken. He loved having Sophie around and he would give up anything he owned to keep it. Sure, they would fight, but at the end of the day, Sophie sitting down next to him after a long day made every silly argument over chores worth it.

So, now that the holiday season had rolled around again, Bobby was determined to give Sophie the kind of Thanksgiving that she was used to...

…Too bad he was always too busy admiring Karen while she cooked instead of taking notes.

Naturally, when Sophie found out that they were making Thanksgiving dinner, the first thing out of her mouth was that they had to invite the Winchesters—Guaranteed to make the day even more hectic with two teenage boys and a non-celebrator running around.

The added difficulty didn't mean too much though; of course he wanted the boys to be there, they were family. Bobby hadn't heard from them in a couple of days, but they were due to arrive any time. Bobby was just relaxing into a book with the smells of Sophie's desserts wafting out of the kitchen when the frantic pounding on his front door alerted him to the Winchesters' arrival.

"I got it," he called out to Sophie, quickly making his way to the door before it was broken down.

"Hi ya, Bobby!" Sam greeted as he knocked passed the old hunter and ran towards the bathroom.

Bobby raised his eyebrows in amusement when Dean's ever-deepening voice alerted him to the young man's presence—he was really going to have to start putting bells on the kid. "Dad didn't wanna stop and Sam made the rookie mistake of chugging a couple bottles of water."

"I told him the plan; it's not my fault he didn't listen." John entered the fray, lugging an overstuffed duffel with him.

Bobby shook his head with a smirk, "You know that Thanksgiving's not until tomorrow, right? You didn't have to make the boy suffer."

"Builds character," John explained with a smirk of his own.

"Hey!" Dean interjected like he had just remembered—but everyone in the room knew it was on his mind before they even reached the house. "Where's Sophie? And what's that smell?"

Bobby jerked his head towards the kitchen as Sophie called out, "I'll be out in a minute! Don't let Dean come in!"

The challenge had been made and Bobby knew as soon as Dean met his eyes that he wasn't going to win. "Gonna have to stop him yourself!" He warned as Dean sprung from his spot and made for the kitchen—and ran smack into Sophie.

"Don't you dare!" Sophie squealed as Dean tried to dodge around her. "You're gonna ruin it!" She exclaimed, swatting at his hands as they wrapped around her waist and hoisted her up. Dean pressed forward into the kitchen with Sophie's feet bouncing off his shins.

"Put me down you over-grown gorilla!" Sophie's laughter snuck out as she yelled, her light slaps continuing to rain down on his arms.

Distracted by his own laughter and holding onto a squirming Sophie, it took him until he reached the middle of the kitchen before he spotted Sophie's surprise. "You made _pie?_"

His voice was full of wonder. He couldn't remember the last time he had homemade pie.

Sophie huffed and refused to answer until Dean set her back on her own feet. "Yes….surprise ruiner," she griped. But, she was over the momentary annoyance when she caught the excited expression on Dean's face. He reminded her of a little boy who just woke up to find out that it was Christmas. "I have to make new ones; I burnt those."

"Can I have one?" He asked immediately, the thought of warm pie making his mouth water.

"It's burnt," Sophie repeated. "It's no good."

"It's _pie_," Dean corrected. "It's always good."

Shaking her head at his insistent tone, she wordlessly walked over to the counter, grabbed the pie and a fork and held it out. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

Digging the fork deep into the center of the pie, Dean held the pie in one hand and leaned against the counter next to Sophie. Shoving the overly large forkful into his mouth, Dean let out a groan that caused a blush to appear on her cheeks. "That's it…when we leave, you're coming with us."

"Don't you think Bobby might have a problem with that?" Sophie opened the oven to check on her new pie, as well as hide her growing blush.

Dean piled another bite in, "He'll get over it."

Sophie faced screwed up in disgust as Dean spoke around a mouthful of pie. Maybe she could admit that Alex and the rest of the female population were right about Dean being attractive, but they weren't privy to this side of him. "That's disgusting."

Shrugging, Dean took another bite and made sure to exaggerate his chewing until he got an eye-roll from Sophie. "So…"

"Is that pie!?" Sam came into the kitchen like a small whirlwind, cutting Dean off.

Sensing Sam's intention, Dean hugged his pie into his chest, "Get your own."

Snatching a fork out of the drawer, Sam tried to get it in close, only to be rewarded with a smack on the back of the hand from his brother's utensil. "I will stab you," Dean told him matter of factly.

Judging by the burnt status of the other pie sitting on the counter, Sam could probably convince Sophie to give him one of his own, but trying to get a bite of his brother's was so much more rewarding. "Come on, it's just a bite."

"Ow! That hurt!" Sam rubbed his hand where Dean had jabbed the fork into it.

Dean shrugged impassively, "I did warn you. And those don't work on me."

Sophie looked over to see Sam trying to use puppy eyes on Dean…like hell they didn't work on his brother. Under almost any circumstance, Dean would cave to his brother's demands once Sam adopted the expression—Sam might even succeed in getting some pie if he kept it up long enough, but Sophie had an easier solution. "You two are ridiculous. Sam, here's a pie."

Sam twisted the pie around and frowned, "…but I wanted apple. Why does Dean get the apple? Is it because you like him better than me?"

Sam's frown morphed into a cheeky grin when Sophie reached out to smack him. "Only joking, pumpkin's fine."

"You…" Sophie stuck her tongue out at him to make her point.

"And you call us ridiculous," Sam commented, sticking his fork into the pie. "I'm just gonna take this to go."

"Yeah, you do that," Sophie threw a dishcloth at his retreating back and pointed at the older Winchester who was chuckling. "Don't start."

Dean grinned at her and wolfishly snatched another bite. "Ya know," he said thoughtfully as he chewed, "this pie's kinda burnt."

Bobby and John didn't even look up as Dean ran from the kitchen with the pie clutched to his chest. "Violence is NOT the answer!"

_**Thanksgiving Day**_

"Will you idjits get out of my way!?" Bobby barked, pushing on Dean's shoulder to direct him away from the stove.

"I was just…" _…trying to steal some food._

"Gettin' in my way," Bobby finished, stirring one of the three pots that was threatening to boil over. He swatted Dean with the towel he had thrown over his shoulder. "You're not helping, so get!"

"Sheesh, old grouch," Dean mumbled. He chuckled when Bobby hit him again.

Before he could be reprimanded for being in the way again, Sam finally got off of the couch where he had been absorbed in his latest book and had wandered into the kitchen. Pointing to the turkey, Sam was almost hesitant to say anything, "Uh, Bobby…I think you were supposed to start thawing the turkey before now."

The large bird sat mockingly in the sink—a symbol of Bobby's complete lack of knowledge in holiday cooking. "It'll cook," he said slightly skeptically.

Five hours later, Dean took his chances and snagged one of the pre-packaged rolls that Sophie had slid onto a larger plate and shoved the whole thing into his mouth before anyone could stop him.

"Hey!" Bobby objected half-heartedly. He really couldn't blame the boy—they had been sitting around the kitchen for hours waiting for the turkey and Dean's stomach had made itself known every couple of minutes with loud rumbles.

The table was set with mostly matching plates, a clumsily put together centerpiece and enough mashed potatoes to feed an army. It was probably the ugliest Thanksgiving ever—and the latest. It was pushing eight o'clock and the turkey was only half-cooked. It was not looking promising.

The next time Dean's stomach growled, it was covered up by the sound of Sophie's loud laughter.

"Something funny?" Bobby growled. He was embarrassed that dinner plans had fallen apart so thoroughly.

"Yeah," Dean groused. "I fail to see how starvation is funny."

Sophie let out an inelegant snort as she gestured wildly around the room and dissolved into another round of laughter.

John was the first to join her with a quick hmph of amusement. Followed by Sam who nearly giggled. Bobby let the oven door slam shut before he shook his head and a bark of laughter escaped—until only Dean was sitting silently, glaring around at the amused group.

"Ha. Ha. We suck at cooking," he snarked, "but I'm still hungry!"

Thanksgiving dinner quickly turned into mashed potatoes on rolls with gravy poured over them and hamburgers patties that Bobby cooked on the stove—not traditional, but then again, they weren't exactly a traditional family, so it kind of fit.

"Mom hated Thanksgiving," Sophie revealed after they had stuffed themselves with pie. "Thought that it was a lot of stress for one meal. She said one year she was just going to order KFC and call it a night."

"Your mom was a smart woman," Bobby said. "Next year, you lot are getting fried chicken and you'll be happy about it."

Dean let out a deep breath, his stomach filled to the brink. "As long as there's pie, count me in."

* * *

Dean trudged up the creaky staircase, a muscle in his right leg protesting every time he put weight on it. The past two days of driving had been uncomfortable, but he had promised Sam that he would make it to Bobby's for Thanksgiving and he had left Caleb in Millinocket, Maine as late as possible.

He felt guilty for feeling it, but he had really been enjoying the break from his family. His dad trusted Caleb to keep him out of too much trouble and Caleb trusted him to not be an idiot. As long as he didn't get himself shot, mauled or maimed, Caleb let him be. Family was everything and he would do anything for them, but for once he wasn't playing the middleman between Sam and dad, he didn't have to justify every move he made during a hunt and he was able to make his own mistakes and figure out what worked during a hunt and what didn't.

…Like the salt rounds he had thrown together. His leg certainly attested to the failure in that plan. Hopefully with a bit more tinkering, he could present his dad with an actual product that allowed them to repeal ghosts at a distance.

But, he promised his brother and he'd rather cut off his leg than break it. So, he pushed aside the selfish desire to stay out with Caleb and returned to the fold. And so far, it had been rather anti-climactic. He pulled into the salvage yard with a heavy heart and made his way into the house as slowly as possible. The door only received a cursory knock before Dean shouldered it open. No one responded to his hollered greeting and he finally found Bobby nursing a beer as he looked over a book at his desk.

"_Heya Bobby!" Dean greeted, his tight smile falling a bit when Bobby grunted out a hello. "How's it going?" _

"_Fine," Bobby mumbled, making quick annotations in the book. "Sam's upstairs."_

"_Um…alright…" Dean frowned and turned for the stairs. "Wait…where's dad?"_

_Bobby didn't look up from his book, "Dropped Sam off yesterday and said he'd be back in a week."_

_Looked like it was going to be another dad-less holiday. Nothing new there. "Okay, well, I'm just gonna go let Sam know I'm here."_

"_Alright," Bobby acknowledged with a wave of his hand. _

Nudging open the door of the room he always shared with Sam, Dean quickly took in his younger brother. As a master of all things Sam, Dean was immediately put on guard by Sam's refusal to look up from his book. "Hey, Samantha!" He greeted with forced cheerfulness, opting to ignore the mood.

"Good book?" Dean flung his duffel on his bed before he plucked the book out of his brother's hands.

"Give it back!" Sam ordered, holding his hand out.

Dean shook his head as he examined the cover of the book. "This is a textbook," he said with disgust.

Sam glared defensively, "Yeah, so?"

"Are we even related?" Dean asked, his tone skeptical, tossing the book away from the beds. "Now, I drove all the way over here, pay attention to me."

"Not everything's about you," Sam snapped, his limbs jerking as he climbed off of the bed to retrieve his book.

"Alright, hold up," Dean commanded, catching Sam by the arm, "what's got your panties in a twist? I've been here three minutes and you're already pitching a fit."

Sam avoided his brother's probing gaze and tugged on his arm. "Nothing. Now will you let me go?"

Knowing that continuing to press that way was only going to frustrate his brother more and make him close off, Dean reluctantly released his arm and let him retreat back to his bed. Flopping back onto his own, Dean used his duffel to elevate his leg. "So, how have things been?"

"Fine." Sam bit out.

"Really? Then why are you acting like I've taken away that old stuffed dog you used to carry around?" Dean half-teased, trying to get Sam to open up.

Sam sputtered indignantly before pinning his brother with pointed stare, "You did, remember? I was eight and you couldn't remember where you hid him."

"Oh yeah," Dean remembered slowly. "Sorry about that," he supplied absently. "But, seriously, what's up? How's dad been?"

"Drunk," Sam muttered bitterly underneath his breath.

Not quietly enough to avoid being heard by Dean though. "Has it been bad?"

For his dad's sake, the answer had better be no. There weren't a lot of things that could make Dean Winchester stand up to his dad—Sammy was really the only one. For Sam, he would do just about anything, including packing him up and moving away.

"Why do you even care?" Sam sat up and looked over at his brother. "You've been gone. Off with Caleb having a great time."

Dean's heart jumped in his throat as Sam hit on his guilty thoughts. "It's not like that…"

"Really?" Sam snarked, channeling his older brother. "You haven't enjoyed being off on your own?"

"It's not like I've been out joy riding, Sammy," Dean defended.

Sam scoffed, "Maybe not, but at least you haven't had to be around Dad."

"He isn't the devil." Dean sat up and turned so he was facing his brother.

"How would you know?!" Sam shouted, standing up so that he was taller of the two, needing the extra advantage. "You have no idea what he's been like!"

"So, tell me!" Dean yelled back. He would normally work on calming his brother down, but his own feelings wouldn't let him. He had been having a good time while Sam was obviously floundering…he knew that things between Sam and their dad weren't great, but he figured that they would just bicker a bit more or Sam might get grounded. Judging by the powder keg his brother had turned into, it was a bit more than that.

Sam shook his head stubbornly. "It doesn't matter."

"Obviously it does," Dean corrected, pointing at his angry brother.

Breathing heavily, Sam paced back and forth—starting to talk and stopping multiple times. "He's just…he…" _What? He's gone all the time and when he isn't, he's drunk? I have bruises on my arm where you grabbed me? We never stop fighting? I feel like I'm suffocating? _

"Sammy?" Dean's probing tone pulled him from his thoughts.

"Are you sticking around?" Sam asked instead of telling Dean how it had been since he left.

"Well, I told…"

Easily reading Dean and realizing that he could end up without his brother again, Sam broke in. "Dean…please."


End file.
